


Unusual strength

by Builder



Series: Originals [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotions, F/M, Hangover, Original work - Freeform, Short Story, Sickfic, Vomiting, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Ch 1: Mel gets up early the morning after her husband disappointed her.Ch 2: Todd gets up late and isn't sure why Mel is disappointed.Ch 3: An attempt is made at reconciliation._____________________________________________________________________An original story featuring original characters.  Completely unrelated to anything else I've written.  Posted to prove I have more than one trick up my sleeve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you still have your expectations out of order, this is not a fanfiction. It's an original, and it's different from my other stuff. It's about feelings and facing obstacles, not h/c or sickfic.
> 
> If you like it, maybe I'll do more of these, either with this character or with others.

Mel lets out a deep, shaky breath as she steps out onto the deck and slides the screen door shut.  The wood beneath her feet is slightly damp and gritty.  There's a pair of flip flops, equally gritty and white with sea spray, haphazardly left outside the door.  They're huge, so they have to be Todd's.  Mel considers sliding them on, but her distaste for her husband outweighs the possibility of getting a splinter.  She passes over the flip flops and continues across the deck and down the stairs to the beach.  
  
Mel's head throbs; she hasn't had coffee yet.  She normally isn't awake at this hour.  The sky is light, but still grey with pre-sunrise clouds.  But the couch had stopped being comfortable around midnight, so it's really a wonder she made it until 6:00.  
  
The beach is pristine.  No footprints or tire tracks mar the soft white sand.  A slight breeze picks up, and Mel's hair ruffles around her shoulders, thick and curly with the early morning humidity.  She inhales the fresh ocean air and imagines it filling her up.  The scent of the ocean coming in through her nose and replacing the lingering odor of stale perfume and cannabis and whatever else was clinging to Todd's jacket.  
  
Mel digs her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and begins a slow amble across the cool sand.  The water is quiet; only small, flat, foamy waves splash gently to shore.  She can't be angry out here.  Last night's fiery rage is replaced with other emotions.  Confusion.  Disappointment.  
  
There's a dilapidated boardwalk a bit farther down, stretching from the dry sand into the water.  Mel angles slightly toward the sandy bleached wood.  Her feet are coated in a thin dusting of white grit.  She wonders vaguely if the grains clinging to her skin will protect her from splinters any better than Todd's flip flops.  
  
The quality of the light changes, and pale golden warmth spills over the back of Mel's head.  The sun is beginning to break over the horizon.  She squints automatically, even though the brightness is at her back.  
  
As the boardwalk draws closer, Mel notices a black lump on the darker wet sand.  It's still too far away to see what it is, but she's sure it isn't usually there.  Probably some abandoned backpack or wash of kelp.  Whatever it is, the exertion of power to fling it back into the ocean will be fulfilling.  She picks up her pace a little and arcs her path to pass the boardwalk on her way down to the water's edge.  
  
The sun creeps up, spreading more balmy light over the beach.  The ocean gleams bright aquamarine and reflects back off Mel's glasses.  As she gazes away from the water and back to the black lump, her heart stops.  Cold rushes through her chest and down to her stomach as she finally sees what's in front of her.  She breaks into a run.  
  
The turtle is so still Mel thinks it's dead.  She pauses two feet away from the animal, bringing her hands up to her mouth.  It smells fetid, and her empty stomach flips sickeningly.  Mel takes half a step back.  Her heart can barely stand the sight.  But she can't even bring herself to blink.  
  
Then the animal's eyes open, and it draws in a croaky gasp.  Mel stumbles forward and drops to her knees so the turtle's head is almost in her lap.  The front flippers paddle weakly into the sand as if it's demonstrating how it became stuck.  
  
Mel doesn't know what to do.  She should probably call marine rescue, but her phone is back in the house a quarter mile up the beach.  But will the creature be alright until rescue arrives?  It already looks like it's dying.  
  
The turtle makes another uncomfortable noise.  Mel glances at its head, its flippers, its shell.  The creature is a reptile; it can breathe in the open air.  But its whole body is dry.  The leathery skin appears parched and wrinkly, and the shell has no luster.

  
Mel brushes the turtle's flipper with her fingertips.  It wiggles and exhales a breath that reeks of rotting fish.  She withdraws her hand, doubting herself.  She has no marine biology training, no authority to operate.  But the animal's barely alive and clearly uncomfortable.  She has to do something.  
  
Shoving the sleeves of her hoodie up to her biceps, Mel glances over the turtle's back and estimates the distance to the water.  Sudden anxiety makes her unable to come up with any semblance of a guess.  It could easily be 10 feet.  Or perhaps 100 feet.  Whatever it is, the distance must be covered.  Mel takes a deep breath, ignoring the diseased smell, and plants her feet in the sand as she grips the animal's shell on either side of its head.  
  
Mel pushes as hard as she can.  The creature has to weigh almost as much as she does, but it moves.  She steps one foot forward and shoves again.  Another foot closer to the water.  Mel grunts with effort and takes two running steps on her toes, back arched forward, and feels the heat in her arms as she thrust into the turtle, hoping momentum will carry them farther, faster.  
  
The creature raises its head, crying again.  It noses into Mel's glasses, leaving a smudgy face print.  She gazes through the smear into the turtle's half-lidded eyes, trying to calm it through eye contact before she musters her strength and pushes it again.  
  
Mel licks her lips, tightens her grip on the shell, and digs her feet into the sand.  She shares a breath with the turtle, then pushes off into a forward-slumped sprint.  Her shoulders burn and her core stings with the immense exertion.  
  
Seconds later, there's a gentle splashing as the turtle's tail and back flippers meet the shallow water.  A small wave rolls in, splashing over the creature's shell and catching Mel in the face.  She loses her balance and tips sideways, catching herself on one elbow.  Her head and shoulders are soaked, and so is the turtle.  
  
Mel catches her breath and sinks to her knees, allowing the waves to lap at her legs.  The turtle is not making to swim away, but it no longer appears to be in distress.  There are no more crying sounds or fruitless flaps.  Just a calmed face and glistening shell.  
  
Mel supposes the creature will regain its strength and swim away.  Or perhaps it'll now be able to die in peace.  She stays there watching it for a moment before slowly rocking back and getting to her feet.  
  
Her damp hoodie sticks to her, enveloping her in the scent of ocean water and the fishy smell surrounding the turtle.  Mel hopes that when she takes it off and places it in the hamper it will overpower the scent of Todd's jacket.  
  
And finally, she smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd is sick and not sure why Mel is disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of all sickness.

Todd knows the room is spinning before he opens his eyes.  He also knows he’s going to be sick, and he prays for at least a moment to get his bearings before it becomes necessary to dash across the pitching floor and barricade himself in the bathroom.  The prayer goes unanswered, and the second Todd shifts so he’s more on his side than his stomach, something he doesn’t remember tasting the first time starts crawling up his throat. 

 

What’s the saying again?  Beer and wine and you’re fine, but beer and liquor never sicker?  Beer before liquor?  After liquor?  Was he even drinking liquor?

 

The liquid splashing into the toilet has notes of battery acid and the fumes from Mel’s hairspray. Todd shudders and wraps his arms around his head so his long hair doesn’t dip into the porcelain bowl.

 

Ok.  This is punishment.  For…?  He can’t remember.  For being a grown-ass man who went and got blackout drunk?  That seems…plausible. 

 

Everything smells bad.  Under the overpowering stench of vomit, there’s something like stale cigarettes and marijuana.  Smoke on its own doesn’t bother Todd, but once it’s settled into clothing and layered onto skin both from the top and out through the pores to mix with old sweat and body odor, it’s disgusting.  Part frat boy and part tramp.

 

Todd spits into the toilet.  He pulls a square of toilet paper from the roll and wipes his mouth, then scrubs at his sparse mustache and beard.  The flimsy material shreds against the coarse hair.  The resulting roughness against Todd’s fingertips burns.  He wonders if he’s feverish.

 

He reaches up to flush the toilet, but ends up retching into it again.  “Fuck,” Todd whispers. Something like a combination of snot and bile is clinging to his lip, threatening to attach to his chin. 

 

He should get up, wash his face.  Take something.  Like maybe a shower.  But he’s not sure he can so much as stand up because he’s so fucking lightheaded.

 

A final dry heave forces its way out, and there’s definitely a rope of mucous embedded in his beard.  Todd swears again and succeeds in flushing away the mess.  He uses the back of the toilet to haul himself to his feet, and he sends the box of Kleenex sliding off the tank and into the small garbage can beside it.  He doesn’t make an effort to right the error because bending over seems like a very bad idea.

 

The two steps to the sink feel like a vast distance, and the faucet won’t stay put as Todd’s vision doubles and singles and doubles again.  It takes a couple tries to flick it on.  __Damn sink__ , he thinks belligerently. 

 

However, as soon as he sloppily cups a handful of chilly tap water onto his face, Todd’s feelings change.  __Wonderful, glorious sink__.  Freshness and clarity start to break through the surface of the misery.  Just the fact that it’s possible to stand upright and breathe without puking seems glorious.

 

Todd rinses out his mouth and squints at his slightly blurry reflection.  His tan looks a little washed out.  His green eyes are rimmed in red, and his light brown hair is greasy and tangled in a mess around his shoulders.  He definitely needs to clean up before…

 

What is he supposed to do today?  What day of the week is it?  He assumes Saturday or Sunday, but…god, he’s confused.  Where the fuck is Mel?  She’s the better one at keeping him on track.

 

Todd’s wife definitely hadn’t been in bed with him earlier.  They both prefer to sleep in any day of the week, and on hungover mornings…it’d be normal to cuddle till noon.  Or until someone had the sudden urge to vomit or make a sandwich on a glazed donut.

 

The thought of food is both mouth-watering and nausea-inducing, and Todd leans his shoulder into the wall (and the light switch) while he waits for his body to decide.  The pitching feeling of seasickness eventually evens out into a headachy throb that reverberates through his whole body. 

 

He needs coffee.  Or a Gatorade.  Todd ascertains that he’s wearing clothes, or at least what’s probably yesterday’s t-shirt paired with boxers, and pads clumsily into the kitchen.

 

Mel’s standing at the kitchen island, typing away on her iPad. 

 

“Hey,” Todd mumbles, his voice rough.  The coffeemaker’s whirring, dripping rich dark liquid into the glass carafe. 

 

He grabs his unwashed mug from beside the sink and makes to intercept the flow of coffee, but Mel stops him.  “That’s mine,” she says.

 

“Ok, geez.”  Todd doesn’t like how much he’s slurring.  “I’m sorry.”  He abandons the mug and opens the fridge.  He finds pulls out a Gatorade, beyond caring that it’s his least favorite flavor.

 

“Those are mine too,” Mel grumps.  She looks her husband up and down.  “But I’ll take pity on you and let you have one.  Because you’re sick.”  She continues under her breath.  “Serves you right.”

 

Todd uncaps the sports drink.  Serves him right for what?  He honestly can’t remember anything specific from the last however-many-odd hours.  He glances at the clock, and is surprised to see it’s only 7:30.  Early for both of them.

 

“Mel, I…”  Todd’s about to admit his confusion, ask for a little clarification.  But he loses his unformed train of thought when he finally gives Mel’s attractive back a look that’s not fogged with leftover drunkenness.  “Why are you wet?”  She smells weird too, but so does he, so Todd decides not to mention it.

 

“You’re one to ask,” Mel snaps.  “Why’d you come home high last night?”

 

Todd blinks at the back of her head.  Well, that would make sense if he’d come home high.  Plus drunk.  But why…he can’t come up with anything.  “I, um.  I…Mel, I don’t really remember anything.  From last night.”

 

“Well, that’s convenient.”  She turns around, and Todd gets a glimpse of the marine rescue website up on her iPad before Mel steps in front of it to fully face him.

 

“Really, babe,” Todd says.  “I mean, my first thought when I was getting sick was about if you were ok.”  It’s a boldfaced lie, but he keeps going.  “When I’m that trashed, you’re usually worse off…”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m fine because I didn’t get invited to go smoke and drink and sleep around last night.”  Mel’s voice is getting louder. 

 

“What…huh?”  Todd’s lost the thread of the conversation.  

 

“That jacket you threw in the laundry as soon as you came in the door,” Mel points out angrily. “Smelled a lot more like Victoria’s Secret than you usually do.  And you forgot to throw out your condom wrappers.”

 

“What?  I don’t…I don’t carry condoms.  Maybe I was picking up trash?  I sometimes do that…” Tod guesses.  He takes another sip of Gatorade and rubs his aching temple.  Mel’s too upset to be messing with him.  But he doesn’t recognize himself in her accusation.

 

“Nobody picks up condom wrappers,” Mel says. 

 

“Babe, what day of the week is it?”  Todd searches for a piece of information to ground himself in the present before poking again into the void of the recent past.  “And why were you snooping in my laundry?”

 

“Because my fucking husband comes home and doesn’t know what day of the week it is!  And while you’ve been all fucked up and sleeping it off, I’ve been trying to keep a turtle from dying on our beach!”  Tears light up behind her glasses, and Mel takes a step toward Todd. 

 

Whether it’s a movement of aggression or a request for comfort, Todd isn’t sure.  As she moves closer, he gets a strong whiff of the odd dead fish smell clinging to his wife, and he’s suddenly too busy heaving into the kitchen sink to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll have one more chapter eventually to sort of tie things up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt is made at reconciliation.

Mel wraps her arms around her knees and plays with the cuff on her sweatpants.  She’s curled in one corner of the couch, facing Todd, who’s curled in the other corner.  It’s early afternoon, and though they’ve managed to coexist through showers and breakfast, they still haven’t made up.

It’s driving Mel nuts.  She’s well aware that 6 hours is an insanely short amount of time for one partner to get over the other’s disgusting behavior, but she’s not keen to spend much more time perseverating on it.  Todd’s said he’s sorry.  Said he can’t remember a thing.  Offered to call their friends and ask if anyone was out with him last night.  He sounds sincere and slightly irritated in a way that seems solely directed her rather than masking anxiety about something else.

Plus he’s sick.  Mel can’t stand seeing her husband down for the count, even when it’s entirely his fault.  Bland toast, fluids, and ibuprofen seem to have settled Todd’s stomach, but not made a dent in the accompanying headache.  He’s still pale, and the wrinkle between his glassy green eyes betrays the pain.  Mel may feel like she barely knows him anymore, but she knows him well enough to recognize that.

“Do really want to play?” Mel asks, nodding at the controllers on the coffee table and the Assassin’s Creed home screen flashing on the TV.

“I don’t know,” Todd says.  “Be good to do something.”

He’s right, it will be good to do something.  Playing the game will get both of them thinking of something besides their harrowing morning.  But there just seems to be so much left to say, even though she’s invariably already said it all.

“Yeah, I just.  I don’t know.  I know it’s pissing you off, but I just…feel like there’s more to say.”

“We’ve been over it, though, babe,” Todd says.  He massages his forehead.  “I must’ve gone out for Friday night.  You had the car, so I must’ve walked somewhere or gotten a ride, did something dumb, then walked home.  Like I said, if you want, I’ll call Jackson or Mark or the brewhouse, see if anyone knows anything.  I’m…probably as mad at myself as you are.”

Mel twitches the corner of her mouth.  They have been over it.  His story’s not changing.  Except the last sentence, that part’s new.  And it’s making her heart hurt.

“I don’t wanna drag anyone else into it,” she murmurs.

“That’s the thing, though,” Todd intones.  “You can’t want to figure it all out and then not do anything.  You’re—we’re running in circles.”

“Yeah, I know.  I’m sorry.”  Mel slides her glasses down her nose and pushes them back up, bringing Todd into a blur, then back into focus.  “Today just sucks, you know?”

“Oh yeah.”

“This morning, that damn turtle, it…I, like, felt really bad, then really good, and then this whole deal is making me feel really bad again…I’m not gonna push you into the ocean to die, but…” Mel trails off.  “That, uh, wasn’t really what I meant.”

Todd takes a slow sip of Gatorade and takes his time returning the bottle to the coffee table.  “I love you, babe.  You know that?  I don’t think I’ve had the chance to say it yet today.”

“Yeah, I…Yeah.  Yeah, of course I do.  I—I love you too.”

“I know I’ve been doing stupid stuff.  Smoking too much, drinking too much.  Really, babe, I think we both kinda have…  Then last night, I don’t even know.”  Todd stretches his leg out across the length of the couch so his cold toes press against Mel’s foot.  “But that’s not gonnahappen again.”

“But if you can’t remember any of it…?” Mel asks with the last gentle hint of anger floating in her throat.

“I don’t know,” Todd says, massaging his forehead again.  “But I really, really feel like shit.”

“You should probably eat something.  That toast had no substance,” Mel says, automatically flicking the switch to caring.

“Yeah.  I’m not real hungry,” Todd mutters.

“This is really kicking your ass,” Mel says.  Todd raises his chin to meet her eyes.  She cracks a smile.

So does he.  “Yeah.  Fuck.”  Then, “Did you sleep last night?  I didn’t mean to kick you out of bed.”

Mel realizes that she is, in fact, exhausted.  And it’s probably unfavorably affecting her mood.

“Not really,” she admits.

“Yeah.”  Todd squints at the lit-up TV.  “You’d probably be better off taking a nap.  Then you might feel better.  I might feel better.”  He sighs.  “Fuck, Mel, we’re getting old.”

“Hm.”  Mel gets up to turn off the playstation.

“I’ll take the couch this time,” Todd says, shifting down so his long, lean frame stretches into Mel’s vacated seat.

Mel’s about to protest, say they can both nap in the bedroom, but she stops herself.  If they do that, she won’t be able to stop talking to Todd, asking how he’s feeling, offering to bring him a drink or a damp washcloth.  Then neither of them will sleep, and she’ll start to hate him again.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

It’s well into the evening when Mel wakes.  She’s starving, and the realization that she never at lunch melds with other memories of the day as she pushes out of the sheets that still smell a little like pot and B.O.  She quickly changes the bedding and drops the dirty items into the now-overflowing hamper.  Laundry will have to be a project for tomorrow.

Mel throws a pillow at Todd to wake him up, then, when he curls in on himself and groans, remembers that he still might not feel fantastic.

“Sorry,” Mel says hurriedly.  “You ok?”

“’M either about to puke or starve to death,” Todd mumbles.

“I think there’s still pizza dough in the fridge.”  Mel arranges her face in a huge fake grin.

“And I’m assuming you want me to roll it out for you?”  Todd’s mouth is the only part of his face not obscured under his arm.

It takes 10 minutes for Todd to stumble into the kitchen.  He spends another 5 pouring them both ginger ale on the rocks before grabbing the plastic wrap coated ball of dough from the fridge and slapping it onto the pizza stone.

Mel tries gamely to help, but gives up after realizing the only mozzarella they have is in a block. She isn’t in the mood to shred, and Todd looks positively sick at the cheese talk.  So he just brushes the dough with butter and throws it in the oven.

When the not-pizza is done, they take it out on the deck to watch the sunset.  Mel leans against the railing and tries not to move her feet so she’s less likely to get a splinter in the fading light.  Todd stands beside her, and when his arm finds her shoulders, she doesn’t inch away.  Light in shades of pink and orange glint off the water as if the heavens are illuminated with millions of party lights.  It’s nicer than any night club Mel’s been to.  And after today, she really has no desire to set foot in one again.

The pink hue reflects in Todd’s eyes, and Mel’s sure it’s overtaken the lenses of her glasses as well.  Todd carefully chews his slice of bread, then says, “Maybe we can take the sunfish out tomorrow.  It’d be cool to take it out in the evening, maybe see the sunset from the water.”

The knot that’s been in Mel’s heart since the previous evening starts to loosen.  “Yeah,” she agrees quietly.  “Yeah.  That sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you enjoyed...
> 
> Sorry to be persnickety, but I just need to get my OCD out here:
> 
> If you have a sickfic or h/c req for MCU/Captain America or Criminal Minds (Reid), drop me a note any time in any way. No promises, but love the prompts.
> 
> My OCs were born here on AO3, but they now live on Tumblr. If you have a prompt for them, visit me over there (@Builder051) and drop me an ask.
> 
> Thank you for bearing with me.


End file.
